


Panic On the Streets of London

by cringemonkey



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, London, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13815873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cringemonkey/pseuds/cringemonkey
Summary: It's all Dan's fault. He'd dragged Phil, the best thing that'd ever happened to him, the love of his life, his soulmate, the man who fit all those cliché labels, to his death sentence. The situation he'd been trapped in for most of his adult life, the thing that kept him running, kept him hiding, prevented him from living a normal life. And he hated it. Now they were in danger and time was running out.





	Panic On the Streets of London

It was nights like these that Dan loved. 

The rainfall nearly deafened him beating out a melody on the pavement. A staccato drumbeat meant only for him and Phil, their little world contained within the cab’s cramped interior; it felt as though tonight London had come alive to make music for them alone.

It was barely nine o’clock as the classic black cab swung through the winding streets of the city. Hardly anyone ever used them anymore, favoring Uber or Lyft or the Tube - but Dan had always loved how elegant they looked. Besides, he'd never been to London before and didn't know how long they'd be able to stay there; this could be his only chance.

It was hard not to feel like you were on a secret spy mission while riding in a black cab, like James Bond or Jason Borne or any of those other action movie stars with the initials JB. Under normal circumstances Dan would have loved that; however tonight the thought only made his stomach churn with nausea, his near constant tension headache returning to push uncomfortably behind his eyes.

Dozens of headlights passed, momentarily bathing the cab in light, sweeping over the interior for a fleeting second before abandoning them to the perpetual almost-darkness of the city once again. At a stoplight, Dan peered around Phil to see people swarming out of a bar, their loud shrieks and giggles audible even from inside the cab. Their sleek black umbrellas already extended above their heads, trendy black coats drawn tight around their smiling faces. He wanted to be like them. Live a normal life. 

It was safe here, Dan figured, safe enough for them to be pushed up against each other in the backseat, close enough for him to hear the irritating whistle of air as Phil snored, his face smushed against the window. His breath created little clouds of condensation on the glass. Dan watched the frosty pools shrink and grow with each inhale and exhale, every rise and fall of Phil’s chest. The sight calmed him, allowing him to forget for a moment what their lives had become.

Phil looked beautiful tonight - even more so than usual. Perhaps all the red wine had caused Dan’s vision to swim slightly, but he swore he could see all the colors of London - the electric blues and neon pinks of bar signs, the sterile white light streaming out of shop windows, the warm amber glow of an old street lamp - dancing across his partner’s smooth black hair, and briefly gracing the milky paleness of his cheekbones, the lights painting him for a moment like stained glass in a church window.

All these perfect scenes were temporary, snapshots Dan wished were possible to capture on film. But he couldn't. Even if he had a camera or a phone it was too dangerous to keep any personal belongs at this point.

He gave Phil’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, rousing the man from his sleep as the cab rounded the corner of the street they were still getting used to calling home. Phil wasn't like him - Dan was so on edge these days he found it hard to sleep soundly in his own bed, never mind in the back seat of a strange cab.

Usually Phil was in charge of paying for the ride, and subsequently having the awkward exchange with the driver; but he was a bit occupied, yawning and blinking drowsily, attempting to rub the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his palm.

His mouth quirking up at the sight of an adorably exhausted and rumpled Phil, Dan began to root in his pocket for the sixteen pounds needed to cover their fare. He used to always pay by credit card, like a normal person, but that (like almost everything that had once been familiar in his life) wasn't an option anymore. 

Finally retrieving the notes as the car rumbled up to the curb outside their building, Dan reached forward to the front seat and pressed the paper into the driver’s hand as they exchanged the customary “thank yous” and “have a good nights.” He avoided the cabbie's eyes, probably seeming horribly rude. He wished he could tell the man that he had to, that he didn't normally act like this; that they couldn't afford too many people the opportunity to memorize their faces. 

He scrambled out of the car and quickly shut the door after Phil, eager to be free of the cab, surprised by how anxious it had left him. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth, the realization of how twisted his life had become making him sick.

The pair drew their coats in closer around their faces and hurried toward the door; however, there was no use trying to stay dry as the rain had soaked through their clothes the second they set foot on the pavement. 

The building was much more upscale than their last. Ron, their doorman, shielded from the elements by the awning, opened the glass front door for them as they approached and gave the boys a nod of acknowledgment they both returned. 

"Weather's just rubbish tonight 'innit, Mr.Madison?" Came the doorman's gruff yet friendly voice as Dan and Phil brushed past him.

As always, Dan flinched at the fake last name, the three syllables feeling like a slap, leaving his skin stinging and heart twisting with guilt.

"Yeah, this much rain could probably put out the next fire of London!" Dan joked weakly, his voice coming out a little too strangled, the words a little too stilted.

Ron laughed anyway - because that's the kind of man he was - and bade them goodnight. The man's kindness only made Dan feel worse. He sullenly approached the elevator, lost in his own reservations and regrets. 

The light pressure of Phil's hand on his arm jerked him back to Earth.

"Hey," Phil said softly, his blue eyes looking sadly up at Dan, a small, decidedly sad smile gracing his lips. 

"Hi." Dan smiled back weakly, only able to meet Phil's gaze for a second, already feeling the tears pricking his eyes. He jerked his head back up to stare at the number above the elevator, marking its descent. 

"Don't worry about..." He trailed off, looking around the foyer quickly, " _blowing our cover_ " he whispered into Dan's ear.

The words made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "Don't talk like that." He said sternly - or at least he tried to - the red, watery look still in his eyes sort of ruined any force his words could have possibly held.

"You know I don't like that it's come to this either," Phil sighed, linking his arm through Dan's and resting his head on his shoulder. "but it'll be okay. We'll be okay." Phil sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that as much as he was Dan.

Dan merely nodded, swallowing thickly as the elevator dinged, its doors parting to invite them in. He didn't say it - he wasn't that cruel - but thought bitterly: _How can you possibly know that._

No one could know if it was all okay for them now.

Upon entering their flat, Dan wasted no time flopping immediately onto their slightly too-firm mattress. He drew in a deep breath, his nose wrinkling at the unfamiliar laundry detergent scent that clung to the comforter; they'd washed the sheets for him and Phil before their arrival. It was too flowery - something neither Dan nor Phil would ever choose for themselves. 

Despite the smell, lying face down on the comforter was Dan's preferred position at this point. He didn't think he'd be able to handle looking at the completely barren, completely white walls, devoid of any personal belongings. The apartment was sterile, no corner out of place, no dishes in the sink, no clue at all that it was currently inhabited by anyone at all. Dan hated it. 

He hated ever corner, every stretch of carpet, every piece of ugly white IKEA furniture so much he thought he'd burst into tears right this minute if he thought about it too much.

“Someone’s tired tonight - Didn’t realize dinner with me was so boring.” Phil leaned against the doorway to their bedroom, arms crossed as he smirked at Dan, one eyebrow raised as if to say _you are so melodramatic._

Dan looked up blearily, his voice barely a whisper as he answered, "You know it's not you, and you know it wasn't dinner."

Phil moved from his position in the doorway, coming to sit beside Dan on the edge of the bed. He stared hard at the ground as if willing something to appear before him.

Dan sat up, drawing his knees up to rest his chin on like a scared child cowering away from a nightmare. He said something surprising: "I'm sorry."

They weren't words Dan said too often.

Phil turned, meeting Dan's eyes with a confused look twisting his features. Nevertheless, his lips smoothed into a tiny smile as he looked at the man he loved. "What for?"

Dan wrapped his arms around Phil, hands moving up and down his arms, a comforting gesture Dan hoped would make up for his abysmal attitude which seemed like a constant in their relationship these days.

"All you ever do is try to make me feel better about all this and I just...lash out at you and I'm-" he hesitated, "I'm just sorry that you're in this with me. It's my fault they forced us to drop everything anyway."

Phil turned his head, each man's gaze boring into the others. Both pairs conveyed an almost unbearable sadness. Regret. Guilt.

"I dragged you into this," Dan said resolutely. "It's my fault." His voice cracked with emotion. He dropped his gaze to his hands, now nervously twisting their way into the too-perfect too-clean white comforter. He couldn't bear to look at Phil.

"Dan..." Phil said, the name coming out as a single pained syllable. He grabbed Dan's hands, forcing him to stop his worried wringing of the blanket. "Don't say that. You know this was out of our control...Things happen, missions go awry...it's just-"

A sharp rap at their door interrupted his monologue. Phil's head whipped in the direction the sound had come from, dropping Dan's hands immediately. 

"Phil," Dan's fearful whisper called out. "We don't know anyone here." He gulped noisily. "That can't be anyone but..." 

Phil tore his eyes away from the door, looking back at Dan. Dan just stared back, his brow creased with worry. His normally warm brown eyes flashed amber in the dim room lit only by moonlight.

"You don't know that," Phil said sternly, standing up. 

The knock sounded again, a little more insistent this time.

Phil brushed imaginary dust from his jeans. Another set of knocks sounded, almost angry in their repetition. He moved towards the doorway.

Dan reached out helplessly. "Don't. Please." He choked out. 

Phil rested his hand on the door frame, pausing to shift his gaze back to Dan. "You know I have to." He said apologetically before walking down the hallway.

Dan pressed his back into the headboard, wishing he could push straight through it, push straight through the layers of walls separating him from the outside, push straight through into the open air above London, where he'd be safe from whatever horror he knew waited for Phil on the other side of that door. He knew who it was. And so did Phil, even if he was set on being braver than Dan. 

Dan heard the squeak of the door opening. 

"Hello Mr.Lester. I need to speak with Mr.Howell - we have a proposal for you both."

Phil swallowed loudly. "Of course."

No. He wouldn't let this happen again. Dan leaped out of bed, diving for his small suitcase that lay open on the floor. 

His hands trembled as he swiftly shifted through his clothes, the sounds of Phil's footsteps becoming louder as he headed down the hallway towards their bedroom.

Finally, dan felt his fingers close around the cool metal of his shotgun. He pulled it out, the moonlight catching its sleek silver finish as he held it aloft, checking that it was loaded.

It was.

The door to the bedroom swung open, revealing Phil. "D-" he started to say, the name getting caught in his throat at the sight of Dan standing with his gun.

Dan thought his knees might give out as pointed the gun at Phil, staring down the barrel at the love of his life.  
" _What are you doing?!_ " Phil hissed, turning his head to peer back down the hallway as if to make sure their guest hadn't followed. " _We can fix this without resorting to killing anybody else!_ "

"Phil," Dan said quietly, his voice surprisingly level and calm even as his finger curled around the trigger. He trained the gun at Phil's thigh. "I'm sorry."

The gun fired, the bang leaving a ringing in Dan's ears. 

He felt his heart break as Phil went down, clutching at his leg, his beautiful face contorted with agony.

Blood began to pour out around Phil's fingers pressing down on his wound. The contrast of the dark crimson against the pale cream of the carpet made Dan's stomach churn, the coppery scent stinging his nostrils. 

He ripped his gaze from Phil's crumpled form as he heard the banging of what was no doubt their front door being kicked from its hinges. Dan could hear screaming voices and the pounding of large boots heading toward him, getting closer with every second.

He knelt down next to Phil, whispering in his ear: "They'll leave you alone if I cut ties with you. The wound won't kill you. I just had to injure you enough so it'd be impossible for you to try and come after me." Dan choked down a sob, brushing some hair away from Phil's forehead, already beading with sweat.

"Phil...I...I loved you more than anyone I've ever loved in my entire life. You're the last person I'll ever love. I'm so-" A few tears rolled down his face, another sob breaking from his chest. He angrily brushed his tears away with the hand still holding the gun. He clenched his jaw, telling himself to get on with it. "I love you."

"Dan," Phil choked out, his eyes pinched shut in pain "don't go. Please. I can help!"

Phil forced his eyes open against the blinding wall of agony keeping him rooted to the ground, pitifully curling himself around his bleeding leg. But it was too late.

Dan was gone. The only signs he had ever been there at all were his suitcase, laying open and forgotten on the floor, and the open window of their bedroom, the sheer white curtain drawn to the side, billowing slightly in the movement of the bitter London air. 

Phil cried out in anger, betrayal, despair, and every emotion he had the energy left to feel. The bedroom door banged open behind him, the agents stopping dead in their tracks as they saw Phil lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, bawling in the most inhuman of ways. The man they were searching for nowhere to be found.


End file.
